As Long as You Stand
by Objessions
Summary: Tag to S2E12 Mac & Jack. I've had a little writers' block lately and tags always seem to get the juices flowing again. Also, this was a fun one that I wanted to play with. Standard disclaimers and warnings apply.
1. Chapter 1

From the minute his friendly questioning use of Cage's name was met with silence, Mac knew in his gut it was Murdoc. And no matter what was happening, if it was Murdoc, Mac was responsible.

He was out the door and in his Jeep so much as a glance around for his jacket, even as Matty was still on the phone with 911. Jack had been adamant that he wait for backup, but Mac hadn't listened. So Jack followed quickly behind, along with the rest of the team

Fortunately, the fact that he didn't have the opportunity to lecture Mac on the way over to her place about waiting for at least the first responders, if not for a Phoenix security team, hadn't been a concern, because they'd gotten caught in traffic and the ambulance had arrived first. The UCLA Medical Center was the closest hospital with a trauma unit that was up to Matty's standards so that's where Cage was taken.

Following the ambulance had seemed the natural thing to do. To all of them. They'd finally convinced Cage that she was really family; they weren't going to let her go through this alone, even if she didn't know they were with her. This time Jack had given him a hard look and told him he was driving. He didn't add that it was because he thought Mac looked dead on his feet and too upset to pay good attention behind the wheel.

Of course, they did what family always done in those situations. They sat in the waiting room, in the world's most uncomfortable chairs, sharing the world's most uncomfortable silence.

From the outset, Mac was full of nervous energy. He couldn't tolerate the looks Jack and Matty were both giving him every time he moved, which he had to admit was quite a bit; he couldn't seem to keep still. So he tried avoiding their eyes. They resorted to throwing those concerned looks at each other over his back, know exactly what was going through their favorite blond genius's head.

Then the call came in, confirming Murdoc was behind it, and he was, once again, in the wind. Mac had gotten immediately to his feet, ready to go out and join the Phoenix team at her apartment in their search. Matty had forbidden it. She had one agent in critical condition and she wasn't about to expand that list tonight. Also, didn't he remember what happened the last time he'd taken off on his own when Murdoc was involved?

Mac was furious. He was old hat at being angry and feeling helpless to do anything about a godawful situation in waiting rooms like this one. Only when he'd learned to hate it, he'd been small enough to swing his feet from the chair. Since his feet had been touching the floor for about two decades now, he just stayed on his feet and began pacing.

At first Matty tried talking him down, but it just seemed to irritate him more. He was grateful for the quiet, small headshake Jack gave their boss. Jack hadn't argued for the opportunity to leave, but he hadn't sided with Matty about staying either. What Mac didn't know, was that Jack was itching to go out on the Murdoc hunt himself, but he knew if Cage died in surgery, Mac would find some way to blame himself. He knew he couldn't say that out loud. So, he'd just stayed quiet for a change.

Eventually, Mac acknowledged Matty's apologetic glances with a nod and a small half-hearted smile. Not too many minutes later, becoming increasingly distressed by the reminder of the Christmas tree in the corner that this was Christmas Eve, he forced himself to try sitting again, but away from the rest of the team. The closeness just seemed to be making him more restless as the hours slipped past.

The genuine care for her team stamped clearly on her features made Jack feel badly for Matty. He knew from experience that Matty was taking having a team member down as personally, if not more so, than Mac. And he also knew that some of Mac's anger at her for putting the brakes on them leaving head been because she knew how exhausted Mac had to be after his ordeal with the local police. Jack stretched out a hand to Matty who, uncharacteristically took it, and squeezed back when he offered the gentle pressure of quiet reassurance.

Eventually Mac had himself focused enough to rejoin their closer sitting arrangements. Bozer offered him his seat, sensing the being pinned between Matty and Jack was making him twitchier, saying he was going to get them some coffee.

Even though they knew it, and knew roughly when to expect him back, since Jack had already made several coffee runs, they all still jumped and looked toward the door for news when he returned. Bozer just looked a little sheepish and started handing around the coffee. He wanted to say something to make himself and anyone else feel better, but even he could think of nothing, and he was probably the best on the team (including Jack who would probably throw down over the concept) at lightening things up.

As Christmas Eve night gave way to Christmas morning, Jack stood up to stretch, more as an excuse to look at how everyone (especially Mac) was doing. Then, he disappeared for a few minutes. When he came back, he had the strange familiar box that Mac said must be from his father. Mac gave him kind of a funny look, but went off into the corner and opened it anyway.

He frowned at the contents of the box for a while, got up and silently passed it to Jack for inspection. Then Jack frowned at it for a while. He asked Mac if he wanted it back. Mac just shrugged and glanced at the double doors off the waiting room again. He didn't want Mac to forget this strange gift that he had to hope was another clue, so he took it back it to the car. Hey, it had killed an hour and kept the kid from looking like he wanted to simultaneously burst into tears or throttle someone for about an hour. That was better than nothing.

It was well into morning when the doctor finally stepped through the doors to give them news. Jack thought the kill or cry face was firmly back in place, but when the doc passed on a message from the recovery room, Mac's face split into a momentary smile. The relief moved through the group like a secret, slow, and somewhat different for each person there based on their own experience and relationship with Cage.

Mac found himself hugging Bozer particularly hard. Since Murdoc had abducted Mac that Fall, he'd had nightmares. Bozer assumed they were brought on by memories of his captivity. And some of them were. But the ones that really plagued Mac, even more than the occasional dream that Murdoc had killed Jack in Paris and that's why he was underground for so long, was that Bozer was home when Murdoc's henchmen arrived. He could very easily have been in a waiting room just like this one that day, hoping against hope that he would not be saying goodbye to the guy who had stood by him since they were kids.

Instead of just pulling him into a hug, Jack stepped in front of Mac, a little but away from the rest of the group, who were already chatting about how to keep Cage's Christmas from being depressing because she was in the hospital and unlikely to leave any time soon. Jack cocked an eyebrow. "How you holdin' up, kid?"

Mac smirked. Jack recognized it as his defense mechanism expression, but didn't call him out. "I'm not the one who just had major surgery after a point-blank gut shot, so you know, all in all, not bad."

That was his defensive tone, too. "You know what I mean," Jack said, firmly, not playing twenty questions, but not back off either. When Mac didn't say anything further, Jack pressed, "This is not your fault, bud."

Mac shrugged, then looked his partner in the eye. "I know that …" He paused. "But I'm going to make sure nothing else like this happens. To anyone on the team."

The way his eyes moved from Jack to Bozer, to Riley, Jack knew that Mac was thinking it could have been any one of them. That was fine, Jack thought, because he'd been thinking about how close he'd been to losing Mac the last time Murdoc came into their lives.

When the nurse came out shortly after with the news that Cage would likely sleep for several hours before she was up to much in the way of visitors, Matty ordered everyone to go home and get some rest, too. Mac had been about to argue when she informed him that Jack was to drive him home and that if he gave her any lip she was officially changing Jack's job description to 'bodyguard' the way he'd always wanted it. Mac finally acquiesced when Bozer said he'd drive the Jeep and be right behind them.

Matty and Riley were headed back to Phoenix together because they knew Cage would want some of her own things during her hospital stay and they honestly didn't know how long her apartment was going to be a crime scene. The contents of her go-bag from her locker would have to do for the moment.

The plan was basically shower, shave, open their presents for each other, then gather up Cage's gifts and see if she was awake and ready for company at dinner, so that maybe she could still have a reminder of a merry Christmas.

When they got out of Jack's car, just as Boze was coming up the driveway, Mac sighed heavily.

"What is it, kid?" Jack asked.

Mac glanced at him. "Just … I don't even need a Christmas miracle like you want Jack … I'd take a Christmas break … like even a thing where everything goes wrong, but the worst thing that happens is Bozer's pastrami gets burned."

Jack snorted a little laugh. "I know what you mean, kid." Jack shook his head. "Seems like work's been screwing up our Christmases since not too long after we met."

Thinking of their first holiday together actually made Mac smile. They'd still been very new to each other and were just figuring out how to get along, but that holiday, more than any of the other little things that shaped their relationship, was probably what had gotten Mac to finally trust Jack, and it was when Jack realized that he cared enough about Mac to want him to trust him, to want Mac to think of him as a friend.

Not two minutes later, Jack realized that it was the things Mac had learned back in that godforsaken place all those years ago that was standing between them and being turned into mist.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack was constantly amazed by Mac's ability to keep his cool when the danger was to himself, or at least when he felt he had some control over the danger. The guy who'd barely been able to contain his anxiety and wore the stamp of his guilt over Cage as boldly as clown make-up in that waiting room, was rock steady as he gave Bozer instructions through the door to get Phoenix and local law enforcement on scene.

Jack realized that had been true since the first time he'd laid eyes on the kid. There had been a split second in that bunk room where the innate practicality that was part of Mac had registered he was about to be laid out by a soldier with probably five inches and sixty pounds of pure muscle on him, not to mention at least a decade and a half more experience, but then his face had gone almost blank as he defended himself.

He felt a little bad about thinking maybe Mac was freaking out over nothing when he'd first noticed the drywall patching. Mac didn't freak out easily. Hell, even fifty stories off the ground and needing to swing into a hotel room window like he did to bring down Red Fist, which Jack knew terrified his partner, wasn't enough to get in the way of his ability to just take a deep breath and work a problem. Neither was he prone to just letting his extremely active imagination out of the bag in front of people.

But Jack knew there was just a regular guy behind Mac's cool exterior. Well, maybe not regular. Regular guys couldn't generally go toe to toe with Einstein in the IQ department. But, there were occasional flashes of normal vulnerability and emotion that broke through the brains every so often. Especially since the events that started with Murdoc grabbing Mac this fall, his run in with the deadly gas, and most especially since losing that pretty scientist who maybe made Mac stop and think about a life outside of work for a minute.

Even on their first, less than auspicious meeting, the calm, cool, and collected young soldier who had, honest to goodness, just been trying to fix Jack's bolt carrier, had given way to the only recently shoved into the past teenaged college student who thought the Army was a solution to his confusing feelings of restlessness and discontent.

His cocky schoolyard smirk as he'd taunted Jack that day about being able to pin him despite his relatively smaller size and less intensive fight training had cooled Jack's anger at the time, reminded him that he was, in fact, facing down a kid. A superior acting pain in the ass kid, but a kid just the same. Jack had pushed back to save face more than anything else, but he'd learned then that Mac preferred overcoming a challenge to any acknowledgement of weakness or vulnerability.

Now, there was no vulnerability in Mac's expression, just a determination to solve this problem, disarm this bomb, and finally put to rest the guy whose nickname said he was already dead.

Mac was rifling through a kitchen drawer, frowning at its contents and Jack was about to ask if there was something he could do to help when Bozer pounded on the door to let them know the cavalry had arrived. "Everybody's setting up the command center in the parking area …"

"No, no, no!" Mac interrupted, as close as he ever got to shouting when they weren't in the middle of a firefight. "Too close! They'll be using tech! Back 'em off. At least another hundred feet back, preferably further."

"Why?" Bozer demanded through the door.

He hated not knowing things almost as much as Mac. Sometimes, Mac thought maybe that's why Boze had stayed mad at him about the whole spy thing for as long as he had. Mac quickly explained, since he knew that would get him farther with his curious friend than just barking an order.

Mac's tone was a little strident, but Jack didn't sense anything other than urgency in it. He was keeping his well-trained ear open for any sign of genuine distress in Mac. His in-charge voice meant this problem was still solvable and they had a chance at an out.

Bozer's slightly strangled, "Okay!" reminded both of them that Boze was a trained agent now, but he was still pretty damned green. But they also knew they could count on him to get everyone outside to listen. One thing years of wanting to get famous had given Bozer was a lot of

personal charisma, and the ability to use it.

As soon as Bozer took off to let the team known what to do, Mac resumed his evaluation of the scene. That's how he was trying to think of it. "The scene", not his home. He found it was harder than he expected. He was pretty good at putting the natural fear that this bomb would

be the last bomb into a mental box and ignoring it. He had Pena to thank for that.

Feelings about the bomb, about how it could kill you, were counterproductive, were the thing more likely than the bomb itself to get you killed. He was used to that. Shoving aside his feeling for his grandfather's house, for the place he'd finally started to be happy after his mom died and his dad left, that was harder.

Murdoc invading it was one thing. The guy that took his friend and mentor and had nearly taken Jack stepping in here to destroy it, that was something else altogether. That feeling had sharp enough edges to cut through the box Mac was trying to put it in. He swore as much from another unsuccessful attempt to stop paying attention to that disquieting feeling as from finding another window wired up to blow.

"All right. It's official. That's every door and every window."

Mac frowned just a little at the slightly wide-eyed look Jack was giving him. He'd been backing Mac up taking apart bombs for so many years now that Mac could hardly believe Jack could be more rattled than he was by this, though he certainly looked it.

He decided he needed to lighten Jack up for just a minute, so he shared what he was sure Jack would find a fascinating revelation. " Even that secret escape hatch I installed is rigged."

The amused curiosity that took over Jack's expression told him he'd accomplished what he'd hoped for. "You have a secret escape hatch in this house and you never told me about it?"

"Well, yeah I did. It's not much of a secret anymore." Mac said with a wry half-smile.

If Jack's expression was any indication, at some point Mac was going to be relentlessly interrogated about his escape hatch, when it was installed, where it was, and if or how he had ever used it. Mac almost laughed out loud when he thought about how often he'd used it to be 'not home' when Jack or Bozer were in their inevitable mother hen mode over something, and even more when he thought there was no way he was ever going to admit that much, since he'd probably want to use it again for that very purpose.

Jack surprised him when, instead of continuing to question him about it now, he moved on to wondering about setting up some sort of substitute for comms. He also couldn't help but think that he kind of loved Jack's expression whenever he told him he had an idea. It was this blend of glad that Mac might have thought of a way out and terrified of what that solution was going to mean to him or his personal property. Mac supposed that was fair given the number of phones and other possessions he'd relieved Jack of over the years. Then there was the actually kind of borrowing his heart earlier this year. He supposed that was enough to make anyone a little warry.

Morse code seemed the easiest immediate solution, but only because it would move the team toward the one he wanted. Bozer couldn't handle the build, he didn't think, but he was sure he could handle the code. Mac had every confidence that Riley would figure out what he wanted and be able to pull it together. He might not have been so sure six months ago, but after she'd managed to build a cell phone out of spare parts after being kidnapped this fall, he was pretty sure she could figure out something as simple as a photophone.

The second he finished his third trip through sending the signal, he was pretty sure they'd gotten it because they were on the move. Mac quickly built what he needed on their end and then, thinking he would probably regret it later, he gave Jack the mic with the instruction to say whatever he wanted. Jack's immediate improved karaoke performance told him later had already arrived.

Once their comms were up and running, Mac was up and running too, leaving staying in touch with the command center up to Jack. That was a familiar feeling, even after all this time. He half heard Jack's convincingly confident assertions, "Mac's never met a bomb he couldn't diffuse."

Mac managed to smile to himself as he started gathering what he needed, thinking of a time when those were the last words that would have ever come out of Jack Dalton's mouth, and the series of events that led him to almost completely believe what he'd just told Matty.


	3. Chapter 3

The dusty smell that seemed to permeate everything in Afghanistan, whether it was hot or cold, was one of the most pervasive memories Mac had of the place. He'd spent a lot of time with that smell filling his nostrils. Squatting down on the ground, under heavy equipment, in old crumbling buildings, knocking what everyone referred to as moon dust out of his boots; stale dust was the smell of war.

Bozer sometimes complained about Mac working on his bike in the living room. Jack would usually just give him a dirty look. Because Jack got it. The dusty smell of the garage was an unpleasant sense memory. And since working on his bike was something he did to relax, inviting those images, those associations into his head was counterproductive.

As he moved through the house, checking every nook and cranny he could think of to locate the bomb The Ghost had wired into his home, dust was stirred up, and a barrage of memories with it. He had to admit, not all of those memories were unpleasant; and they highlighted just how much he and Jack had both changed since they first met.

The quiet and patience he was being afforded as he worked, for example, highlighted the change very well.

When he'd first known Jack, Mac considered putting a pillow over his head repeatedly. And not just because Mac had spent the first week after they'd met nursing a fair number of bruises and taking more ibuprofen than was probably smart.

It was bad enough that he never closed his mouth out on patrol, or while Mac was working, but he snored, too. He couldn't even count the number of times the constant noise that came out of the mouth of his overwatch almost got them blown to bits because he couldn't concentrate.

The moment Jack really started to trust him, to not just try to annoy him into putting in a request for a transfer, had come at the end of one of those impossibly long days where Mac was already sure he wasn't going to get any sleep. He'd been lying under a wired up Humvee trying to diffuse what should have been a simple explosive, grumbling to himself because even if it was one of those rare occasions that Jack didn't snore, he was sure he'd still be hearing Jack's voice playing in his head well into the night because not two seconds had gone by without a question, a comment, or an impatient exhalation all day.

Then, like things always seemed to, sure as the dawn, things went sideways. Mac knew Jack's sniper's eye picked up his momentary blistering panic in his expression, although he saw it in Jack's face too, looking up from his position under the truck, under the bomb. Then Pena's voice, still so clear to him it was like he was lying under that truck, too, said, "No feelings about the bomb, kid."

The deep breath the memory of his mentor's voice triggered had been all it took to see a possible solution and then execute it. It was also the first time Mac had fleeced Jack of his belongings to solve a problem; and the first time Jack's teasing, bitching, mission banter had taken on an affectionate tone.

With a frustrated sigh, Mac returned his full attention to the present. None of the places he'd checked held even the slightest clue as to where The Ghost might have stashed his latest foray into the art of fiery death. A ghost of another kind whispered in his ear, just like it had when he was under that truck all those years ago. "You're smarter than anyone I've ever met, kid. A lot of guys here will tell you that you have to think like the bomb maker to beat them at their own game. That's bullshit. All you have to do is think like you."

Mac got the little half smile Jack knew meant he had an idea. Jack was doing his best not to chatter the kid's ear off. He knew that made it harder for Mac to think, since Mac was not a talker most of the time anyway, but as he watched his partner take apart and rewire a remote, he found he couldn't keep his thoughts and questions to himself anymore.

"Hey, uh, not to break your concentration, but shouldn't we be lookin' for what Casper the Unfriendly Ghost built instead of you buildin' little doohickeys of your own?"

Mac restrained himself from puffing out another sigh. He didn't think explaining that he was building a non-contact voltage tester would do much good either. Jack had a totally understandable case of nerves, and that just made him chatty. So instead of explaining what he was doing, he explained why he was doing it, as it related to the problem. Making it sound like just a mission was more likely to calm Jack down a little and, Mac had to admit, it made him feel better, too.

Fortunately, once he had the voltage tester, he found the bomb pretty quickly.

He should have thought of the crawlspace first, damn it.

Then he got that all-important first look at the device. Whoa.

"It's bigger than I expected," he managed.

Jack joined him hanging his head down to check it out too.

Mac couldn't think of anything else to say, so he just added, "A lot bigger," not liking the stress he heard in his voice, but not able to do much about it.

He righted himself and then dropped down into the crawlspace, grimacing at the dusty, too-familiar smell. Jack followed him almost immediately, focused on what Phoenix was saying more than on what Mac was doing, a feeling a little like he'd swallowed a bellyful of baby snakes, as much from hearing this didn't follow the expected MO for the Ghost as his proximity to the bomb.

Then the implications of the information Riley shared really sunk in.

"Are you saying there's another bomb out there?" Jack asked, already knowing the answer, but sort of hoping Mac was going to contradict him, in spite of the cold sweat he'd seen break out on his partner's face, despite his quickly rising voice.

"Yes! And we need to find it now!"

The strident tone, high volume, were all so uncharacteristic of Mac's usual almost irritating calm in the face of impossible odds, it sent the team scrambling faster than a barked order from Matty.


	4. Chapter 4

When Jack let Mac know Charlie was on the ground and had hooked up with Riley and Bozer to join the hunt for the Ghost's other device, it made it just a little easier to focus. It allowed him to tamp down on his frustration and come up with a solution to identifying the explosive he was dealing with.

He hopped up out of his crawlspace to go make it as quickly as possible. He was vaguely aware that Jack was standing at the kitchen counter talking to Matty. Then he realized Jack's words were directed at him. "Hey, Mac. Matty wants a progress report."

Just hearing his name distracted him just a little, but he'd learned a long time ago that he had to let Jack in on what he was thinking, or the man would just start chattering away to try to get at it. "Hey dude. Stoichiometry. In my head. Can't talk."

As soon as it was out of him mouth he just refocused on what he was doing. Letting Jack deal with HQ while he did his own thing was old hat. Even if HQ didn't like it. That was a parameter they'd established early in their relationship.

The kitchen was a comfortable temperature, but the crawlspace was hotter than the surface of the sun, to borrow a phrase from Jack, and had sweat dripping between his shoulder blades, even though he's shed his jacket and flannel when they'd gotten home.

Too much of this day, which already felt impossibly long, was reminding him of his time in Afghanistan. At least most of the memories that were trying to make themselves heard today were of him and Jack. Not all of those were exactly good, but some of them were of the very things that made their verbal shorthand and their complete trust in the other to hold up their side today possible.

As one part of his brain worked the math, the other part that was prone to distraction if he didn't give it something to do turned over the memory of how he'd sort of trained Jack to be the go between for him and whoever was in charge, so he could just do his thing. He could tell from Jack's expression he was probably thinking the same thing.

The first time Mac disobeyed a direct order (in front of Jack, anyway; orders and MacGyver had never gone together particularly well, though he was just good enough at what he did that it usually didn't get him into too much trouble) had been shortly after they started working together.

Truth was Mac's arm had still been sore from Jack almost hyperextending his elbow in their bunkroom brawl and Jack had a tooth loose that he was just trying to avoid chewing on so it would set back up without going to the base's poor excuse for a dentist; if he had to do that he was going to break that kid's skinny little arm for sure. No matter how good the kid was turning out to be at not getting their sorry asses blowed up.

They'd taken fire a couple of times, and Jack had had it about up to his eyeballs with trying to keep this tech alive, because unless it was in imminent danger of hitting him, in a really obvious kicking up dust into his eyes way, the kid didn't even seem to notice. He was too focused on the job.

Jack had been trying to get him to just head out for over an hour. But the kid just kept on with his dogged, detail-oriented sweep of the whole damned town. Jack was starting to lose what patience he had when another group of men, who'd been making Jack twitchy for a while, passed by for probably the third time since he and Mac had rolled into this neighborhood.

Mac was doing that thing where he didn't seem to process that Jack outranked him. Or that Jack was getting fed up with Mac's methodical trek through the town with no results. Then when Command called, Jack thought he'd get somewhere, but it was like the kid just doubled down, like he hadn't heard … no, he hadn't listened at all. And the damned fool kid was going to get himself killed playing in a sandbox full of anything but toys.

Then it became apparent to Jack, who was trying his best angry coach voice (clearly the kid had never played football because it had zero effect), that Mac wasn't currently motivated by orders, or circumstances, or even the idea of actually doing his job. This kid was motivated by his guilt about his CO's death.

Now, despite many opinions to the contrary, Jack Dalton was no fool. He wasn't going to be this guy's overwatch without reading every bit of info the US Army was willing to let him see. You had to understand your charge if you were going to protect them, and by God, even if Jack wanted to kill the kid himself, he wasn't going to let some haji here do the job.

There was absolutely nothing MacGyver could have done to prevent Alfred Pena's death. Reports even said he'd argued with his boss, but he'd actually taken orders from Pena pretty seriously and he'd backed down and gone to work on their robot like he was told. But the kid didn't think of any of that. Clearly, he thought he should have argued harder, or bulled in in front of the guy and gotten his own ass torched.

Jack's first thought at seeing the kid taking off had been right. He hadn't heard Jack at all. He was too busy listening to his past, and his skewed perceptions of his ability to control things … or maybe it was a need to control and a frustration with his inability to do it, to hear anything like a simple "Get in the truck," sort of order.

He was almost angrier with the kid for taking things onto himself that couldn't possibly be his responsibility than he was for his order being ignored. Huffing a frustrated sigh, and cursing under his breath in a way that would still get his Nana to wash his mouth out with soap, Jack shouldered his weapon and took off at a trot to catch up with his stubborn, infuriating determined to die on him partner.

Mac had figured he was in deep shit. And the very reasonable voice that usually ran the show in his head told him to turn around, apologize to Dalton, and get in the truck. Unfortunately, the memory of the explosion that had taken out Pena was louder, so he kept going. He knew how suicidally stupid going on a sweep without overwatch was.

But it didn't matter.

Once he started to follow the trail that he knew would lead him to a bomb that was waiting to tear someone, maybe a lot of someone's, apart, he sort of forgot about Jack, forgot about the Army, forgot about Pena even, and became consumed with the task of finding and disarming that device.

Reality had come crashing back when he was hauled up off the ground by a bunch of guys who on their own would have had not trouble beating the hell out of him given their size and apparent strength even if they weren't armed like the entire goddamned infantry, but together were a lot scarier.

A group of them, the fact that instead of just putting a bullet into him while his back was turned, meant they were on the hunt for a soldier they could take home to whoever was calling the shots in the area. The complete irrational blistering panic Mac felt in that moment, being shouted at in Dari, which he only knew a few phrases in, eclipsed anything he'd ever felt before.

Dying over here was one thing; that idea didn't even bother him as much as it probably should've. Being taken captive? Well, now, that was a whole other can of worms he hadn't even really let himself contemplate.

When Jack dropped the guys from a perch above the street, Mac's relief almost made his knees weak. Jack was furious with him, no doubt. But when Mac said he didn't think Jack was coming with him, there was some hurt in the reply too.

The real gratitude in his thanks had softened Jack's tone a little. And by the time they were on their way home, Jack had been the one that cooked up a story to keep Mac out of trouble. Real smiles still didn't come easily for Mac, but he'd given Jack one then. "I'm sorry I took off. Thanks for … lookin' out for me out there … and with the big dogs."

"I got your six, kid. Never doubt it."

That was when Mac knew for certain he could count on the man. That there was someone he could trust with his life.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack felt his stomach drop when Mac went from cool rational explanation of what he was doing to ID the explosive under his floor and a voice that was a mix of true fear and hot fury. "No, no, no, no. I was really hoping that wasn't gonna happen!"

The look on Mac's face when he practically launched himself out of the crawlspace to talk directly with Matty did nothing to ease Jack's increasing disquiet either. The fact that he started pacing and gesticulating with his hands wasn't a good sign either.

Jack just sat down and got out of his way, listening and watching to see what Mac needed. He'd learned years ago that sometimes needed a little help staying grounded. So much went on in his head constantly, he tended to get a little lost there from time to time.

Jack's slightly teasing, "English, pal; tell 'em in English," that he somehow managed to sound totally calm and in control saying got Mac back out of his head almost immediately and refocused on the problem rather than a litany of everything he knew about cubic gauche nitrogen.

The realization of what the Ghost was really up to was focusing for the entire team. And they all realized that this probably wasn't as simple as it seemed on the surface. And in a strange way, that helped. The imminent threat was so familiar, so old hat at this point, that it made slipping into their practiced rolls easier.

For Mac and Jack, just how bad the situation was almost seemed to lighten the mood. Mac's grin took on a cocky confidence that Jack easily recognized from a much younger face; it was the grin of a kid who wasn't a hundred percent convinced he wasn't a superhero in disguise who was going to save the whole world.

When Jack asked what he could do to help, it was more that he'd become accustomed to being able to since they started working for DXS and then Phoenix than because he really thought there was anything he could offer in defusing the bomb. Mac's reply was an old familiar one. "Know any good prayers?"

To Mac it was his way of jokingly saying "Not a damned thing," but Jack, as he always did, took it more seriously and started mumbling a partially correct Hail Mary under his breath.

Mac appreciated Jack's desire to do something, anything; especially because when they'd first been in situations like this, Jack at least had the active job of watching his back and keeping hostiles off him while he worked.

He knew that probably had his partner feeling a little helpless. And probably bored, although most people wouldn't have understood that feeling in their circumstances. Mac knew if there were two things Jack Dalton didn't tolerate well, they were boredom and any feeling of helplessness, especially where his partner was concerned.

For Mac, slipping into an old role was as comfortable as a worn shoe. Disarming bombs had just the right element of tension, of danger, to focus him almost completely, and it appealed to the complex analytical nature of his brain. He almost always felt that was a combination that made him think better, faster, more efficiently. And when Mac realized the bombs were linked in time to stop Charlie from cutting any wires on his device, he didn't think he'd ever been more glad that he was wired the way he was.

Jack watched his partner's face as he explained the situation to the rest of the team. As the realization that the bombs were connected found its way into words, Mac's eyes got wider and there was tension in his every movement.

However, his voice stayed level; well, level to the untrained-in-MacGyver emotions ear. Jack was sure the rest of the team was marveling at how cool he was being, but Jack saw some disturbing signs of real worry in his partner already, and now he could hear them, too.

When Jack stopped Mac from just taking off again and asked, "Have you ever disarmed bombs that are connected to each other before?" he wished he'd just kept his mouth shut, as Mac's expression tried to be closed off (meaning he was totally okay and on the job) but instead showed real concern as he covered the mic.

Then Jack realized Mac wasn't personally all that freaked out, he just didn't want what he thought of as the civilians hearing his answer. "No."

Jack was starting to be legitimately scared and just needed to know Mac was really thinking things through. This situation was enough of a reminder of early days where Mac went off half-cocked nine times out of ten for it to have the hair rising on the back of Jack's neck. "Most powerful non-nuclear explosive known to man," kept echoing around his head.

Jack couldn't decide if he was more freaked out or reassured by Mac's almost amused, "What does it matter?" after he admitted this was a new experience.

Jack was a breath away from a Han Solo, "Don't get cocky, kid," when Mac just smirked.

"We're going to have to be very careful," he said with a raise of his eyebrows.

Jack kept his reply to himself, but it was pretty loud in his head. "When the hell have you ever been careful, Mac?"

Mac practically read his mind and just gave him a wry head shake as he dropped back down in the crawl space. "I've always been the careful one, Jack."

Jack nodded, soothing himself with the memory of a Mac who, at least on the surface, seemed the more careful of the two of them.

0-0-0

It had been one of those days that had Jack not just counting the days until he went home, but the hours, hell, the minutes. Eight EIDs in, on a brutally hot dry day in Paktia Province, Jack was tired, hungry, grouchy, and about fed up with Mac's incessant reminders to be careful. Of course he was careful, damnit!

Then he heard the click. He could have told himself that he'd just stepped on some innocuous piece of trash, but more than one tech had described the sound of a pressure plate trigger, he'd seen them in training, and good ole Carl's Junior had very helpfully shown every guy in the their bunk room a demonstration of what they looked like, sounded like, and exactly what they could do to the human body, depending on what kind you were dealing with. He seemed almost gleeful in his description of what an S-mine, more commonly known as a Bouncing Betty, could do to someone. Dak had looked actively ill by the time the kid was done.

He tried to warn the kid off, but the stubborn little shit didn't listen any better than he normally did apparently, because instead of an acknowledgement over the commms, what Jack heard was, "Hey, Mr. Careful," in a more quiet and reassuring than teasing voice.

It quickly became clear that he wasn't going to get rid of the kid either. "This is how it works. You watch my back, I watch yours."

"How are you gonna defuse this thing in less and a minute and a half?"

That just earned him a small smirk. "I don't know. I guess you're just gonna have to trust me."

Even terrified for this life, Jack had to admit that was a fair expectation. Mac was trusting the guy who'd almost broken his arm three seconds after seeing him for the first time, who'd saddled him with a nickname he hated almost as much as his real first name and that made him long for the days with his old unit where the worst he got called was Hollywood or heaven help him Surf City, to watch his back out here everyday. Least Jack could do was return a little of that trust now.

Things hadn't changed much since then in the really important ways, Jack thought to himself as he listened to Mac and Charlie go back and forth about the Ghost's bombs that were set to vaporize all of them. A Wookie life debt was too serious a thing to let time change it.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack paced back and forth around Mac's kitchen, looking out the window to get glimpses of Phoenix and the local authorities, then ducking his head down to look in the crawlspace to see and hear what Mac was up to.

Mac's back was to him when he told Charlie they would need to cut their respective wires simultaneously, but Jack could picture his expression. Mac got this look, one that said he'd forgotten they were in mortal danger, the minute he'd solved the puzzle, come up with the answer. They'd known each other long enough that Jack could hear that facial expression in Mac's voice.

When Mac stopped them again, there was also no mistaking the panic and self-recrimination in that voice. And Jack could picture that expression too. It was somewhere between migraine, and seasickness, and knowing you were about to take a punch to the kidneys. Jack almost smiled to himself. Time for some classic Jack Dalton tension-breaking shenanigans.

He dropped down into the crawlspace, upside-down and deliberately letting an arm dangle like a monkey. "Unless you and Chewie are talking about fixing the hyperdrive on the Millennium Falcon, you're just gonna need to explain this speed of light thing to me real quick."

Jack didn't need or even really want to know what Mac was up to. He trusted Mac to get the job done. He just knew that tone. Mac needed to get out of his own head a little to think clearly. And Jack acting like he was taking the situation too lightly was a good first step, and the clincher was to get Mac explaining himself. It just always clarified his thoughts for him.

The deep breath and deliberate squaring of Mac's shoulders told Jack he'd read his partner exactly right. Mac's explanation started with the almost strident voice of his own annoyance with himself, but as he tried to wrap words around the idea that the wireless link shared by the bombs was operating at a different speed than their comms, even though both appeared instantaneous to any casual observer, his voice leveled off.

In spite of his best intentions, Jack felt his heart start to hammer in his chest, way too fast. His stomach started to churn. Classic fear response. And he decided to try to just shut up because nothing that came out of his mouth was going to be helpful.

Charlie, Riley, and Jack sounded hopeless and bordering on panicked. Glances were exchanged all around the command center when Mac didn't sound much calmer or more hopeful that the others on the team. Matty raised a vaguely interested eyebrow that no one else seemed to notice when Bozer proposed the calm, reasonable solution that they move the truck to Mac's house, making communications easier, and minimizing the damage if things did go seriously pear shaped.

The transport time (despite the suicidal speeds at which Riley got them across town) combined with walking away from the bomb for a few minutes to pace through the house had gotten Mac's thoughts slowed back down to productive. No feelings about the bomb, Mac, he repeated to himself as he paced. After a few laps around the house, Mac knew what to do and headed back toward the kitchen, armed with a plan … well, a sort of plan, but it was better than nothing.

He gave Jack a grateful little smile when his partner asked what he was doing with Bozer's old DVD player. He'd calmed back down enough to know exactly what Jack was up to with the Q&A, but still he appreciated it. It always helped, even when it also pissed him off. Their shared grin when he told Boze to go break in and steal someone's DVD player told Jack this was one of the times Mac just appreciated the banter.

Everybody but Mac and Charlie seemed a little slow on the uptake, but as the team arranged mirrors from inside Mac's and appropriated from his neighbors' houses, what the bomb experts were trying to do became clear. Or at least it became clear that they really knew what they were doing.

Until his dying day, Jack would never fully understand Mac or people who thought like him. He was just hoping he'd have a few more days in front of him to try. "I'm thankful for it, but you're a weirdo for sure."

Mac just rolled his eyes in a familiar 'so are you' expression and went to get the box of prisms he had in the coat closet in the hall. The quiet of the final preparations got to him a little. He moved back and forth over the setup, measuring, eyeballing, questioning, and tweaking.

Finally, Jack said, "We've measured four times, Mac." His expression was one of understanding, but also carried a soldier's fatalism. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel that. One way or the other this was almost over. That in itself was something of a relief, strange as it would sound to anyone on the outside. "You wanna do it again?"

"No," Mac said with a poorly concealed sigh. "It's just … we're not gonna get another shot at this." Mac way trying very hard to just stay in the old zone; cool, dispassionate – no feelings about the bomb. But this was his home. And Jack wasn't just watching his back, he was right on top of the deadly device with him. And his other best friend was outside next to another one. Then there was Charlie, Ri, Matty … hell, everyone there.

Most of them could've cleared out by now.

But they hadn't.

Because they believed he could do this.

He finished preparing for their attempt. And that was the worst part about this. It felt like an attempt. He felt none of the usual certainty he was accustomed to about making this cut. He was more than half sure this was his swan song, so to speak.

Jack could see it, and he started out talking just to break Mac's tension, but seeing his uncertainty, and how damned young it made him look, Jack needed to just say something honest. "I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you."

Mac felt a little of the uncertainty leave him. Sure, this was his home, and his life was on the line, most especially because this was a deeply personal attack, on par with Murdoc grabbing him from beside his front door and dragging him to that basement … Okay, Mac, not a good train of thought. Knock it off … But every move he'd made defusing this trap, he'd been thinking about Jack, about Boze and Riley, about everyone who couldn't get far enough away.

That was the best he could do, and it's what he always did.

Hell, his track record on not getting himself blown up was near perfect. He almost chuckled to himself. "Well, I'm ready," he said, almost like an admission rather than a statement. Then, because a piece of him needed to hear that Jack still believed that he could do this, just like he always had, he added, "Are you?"

Jack stepped toward him, his expression undeniably serious, but proud as hell, and wearing the complete trust Mac needed to see. "Nobody I'd rather die with, man."

Mac squeezed his hand in return. "Me neither." Then, as a sign that all as right with the world, or as right as it could be in those circumstances, he teased, "You're not cryin' on me, are you?"

When the bombs separated Jack wanted to run around the house cheering as raucously as his partner, but he still had a big job ahead of him. This one he was sure he could complete. So sure, he realized he hadn't eaten since last night, nor had anything to drink but terrible coffee since yesterday.

When this was all over, he was going to order four pizzas, drink about six gallons of water, and sleep for a week. When Jack offered him a soda, he wanted to hug the man. But still he admonished him to keep quiet and let him concentrate. Though he had to admit cold liquid full of sucrose was bound to make that easier.

Jack passed Mac the cold Coke just after he'd dropped back down in the crawlspace with an emergency lantern. Before he even took another look at the bomb, he opened it and took a long drink.

"Thanks, Jack," he called out to his partner. "Keep these comin' wouldja?"

"You bet, kid."

It was going to be another long night, but at least Mac was pretty sure what was on the other side of sunrise now.


	7. Chapter 7

The nearer they got to sunrise, the more sure Mac was that they would be debriefing this instead of being picked out of the neighbors' hedges. Of course not being blown up was the only communication they had from the outside to gauge how Charlie was doing.

When it was finally light out, Jack had gone up for another drink for Mac, who had switched to Gatorade after several more miserable sweaty hours in his crawlspace. Charlie was waiting near the window and showed Jack a small smile and a thumbs up. Jack flashed him a smile and gave him a nod, peering out the window to see a team disassembling the rest of the components and loading them into a secure truck to transport them safely for further analysis.

Charlie raised a questioning eyebrow. Jack shook his head, making what he hoped were intelligible motions with his hands to indicate the bomb below the house was a series of complicated knots and puzzles. Charlie nodded, indicating his own had been fairly smooth sailing.

Jack let Mac know when he got back down into the crawlspace and he saw the kid's shoulders lower as some of his tension was immediately relieved. "Good, so he's getting clear?"

"Headin' to the command center with everybody else, far as I could tell," Jack said, holding out the opened Gatorade when Mac glanced at him.

Mac turned back toward the device for a moment, severing one connection that he'd been positive of, before taking the Gatorade and finishing half of it in one long drink. "You gonna give me shit because he beat me?"

"Well, now, I would," Jack teased, "But he sorta indicated his was real straightforward and it seems like this one is …"

"Totally backward?" Mac shrugged. "Kinda. I wish they'd all clear out. Now that the bombs aren't linked and the big one is defused, no reason for everyone to stay in the blast radius."

He sounded mildly annoyed.

"Yeah," Jack said, in sympathy.

Then he went quiet and watched Mac work. He didn't often get an up close and personal on the thing that made Mac one of the most sought after recruits in the intelligence game. It was something to behold for sure.

When they finally emerged, about three hours after either of them was accustomed to having had a cup of coffee, sweaty, dirty, and exhausted, they were more than a little relieved it was over.

There had been none of their typical post-mission elation this time though. Mac had cut the final wire, said, "We're clear," and pulled the logic box off the device with a small satisfied smile.

Jack had just replied with a nod, hopped up out of the crawlspace, and offered Mac a hand up because he knew the guy had to be stiff from crouching down next to that bomb all night. "Nice work," he offered and then they headed out of the house to find everyone.

Mac almost froze at seeing the size of the crowd. First, because it hit him hard just how many people had put their faith in his ability to keep them all alive, and second, because he hated, repeat hated, being the center of attention.

Jack startled him when he took the logic box from him and started doing a classic Dalton Victory Dance, but he felt immediate relief when he realized it was Jack letting him fade into the background a little. Jack never seemed to mind all eyes on him. Except that time with the frost bite. Although Mac was convinced that was only because Riley had been there.

When Mac and Charlie shared a brief embrace, both thinking that this was altogether too similar to how they'd gotten to know each other, Charlie had said quietly, "We ever just gonna get together and have a beer, maybe talk about old times, instead of reliving 'em?"

"Maybe," Mac laughed, but he only sort of half felt it. It seemed like the only way he ever saw anyone anymore was in crisis. Charlie, Frankie, hell even Nikki, who he still couldn't believe hadn't called him after that night in the hotel before they brought down Thornton. Everybody.

Well, everybody except Jack.

Crisis on top of a bomb, laid up in Medical recovering from whatever mission had most recently decided to compete with Cairo, or out on Mac's back deck with a couple of beers just bullshitting about football or something; nothing much changed for them. Not since Jack had re-upped to keep watching his back anyway.

As Mac moved through the crowd of people, all elated to be alive, and all wanting to both thank and congratulate him, despite the fact that most of them knew he hated that kind of thing, he let himself remember what it was like that first time. The first time he knew someone he'd trusted and cared about didn't just leave.

They'd gotten up, like they always did. Went out a run, because it was just such a habit at that point, skipping it felt like forgetting to eat or breath, showered and changed, then grabbed breakfast at the mess. Jack had stuck out his hand and after hesitating a second Mac shook it.

Jack noticed the way the kid was sort of avoiding his eye. "Don't worry, kid," Jack said in the half teasing tone he'd learned worked best when he wanted to actually say something serious. "They'll send you somebody good. He won't be as good as me, but he'll getcha home in one piece."

Mac nodded, then managed to look Jack in the eye. "I'll be fine. Good luck, Dalton."

Then he gave a little nod, and just turned and headed in the opposite direction. "Hey, kid! Carl's Junior, where you goin'? Thought you'd wanna escort me to the airfield to be sure you're rid a me!"

More teasing felt like the only way to go.

"Sorry, Jack. Gotta go gear up for the day. Some of us still have a job to do! Enjoy civilian life, old man!"

He turned a little then and flashed Jack his best cocky grin before he disappeared around the nearest building. Jack watched him go, frowning just a little.

Mac had kept himself busy all morning. It was strange knowing he'd be going out that afternoon without Jack. This was his first real assignment away from his training unit, and much as he hated to admit it, much as the guy drove him nuts, Jack Dalton had wormed his way through Mac's armor-plated defenses.

He'd become a … friend wasn't the right word exactly, although he was … although he was more often like a good friend's annoying big brother who'd definitely dead-arm you, but would also beat the tar out of anybody else he caught doing it, and maybe let you borrow his bike if he was having a magnanimous day.

Mac wouldn't have exactly called them close at that point, but it was the only connection other than Boze (Penny currently wasn't speaking to him because she was upset he'd joined the Army) who was currently on the right side of the dirt, to borrow a distinctly Jack Dalton phrase.

Much as Mac had been unprepared for anything resembling the sort of awkward long drawn out goodbye he suspected someone like Jack was capable of, he realized he'd been weirdly unprepared to say goodbye at all.

He snagged almost all of the paperclips out of the bowl on the duty officer's desk on his way by. Today was going to be a long day. And it wasn't even munch time; hell, he hadn't even gotten his assignment yet.

Mac was on probably his twentieth paperclip sculpture of the day, nearly lost in thought and responding to his dispatch almost by rote, when his overwatch climbed in to the truck he was waiting in.

He was almost annoyed with himself for the dopey grin he knew his face split into when he realized his new overwatch was his old overwatch. "Jack?" he asked incredulously. "I thought you went home."

"Well, almost did … It's a funny thing …There I was, boarding my transport, just fifteen hours between me and the great state of Texas, and then it hits me: that poor little bomb nerd with the silly hamburger name ain't gonna make it two days in the sandbox without me watching his back."

Mac's mouth dropped open just a little when Jack revealed the conditions of his reenlistment. Then he felt it start working as he tried to think of something adequate to say. Jack gave him a little smile and a head shake and went on, reverting to the tone that always lightened the kid up. "And before you go gettin' big-headed, I didn't do it for you, I did it for my country. I got a sneaky suspicion you're a little too valuable to Uncle Sam to lose just yet."

Mac swallowed. He came back. Well, there was a first time for everything, he supposed. Maybe Jack Dalton represented a change in his luck. He managed a smile and an almost casual, "Well, thanks, man."

0-0-0

Jack put a hand on his shoulder in the middle of the command center (also known as the bottom of his driveway) and gave Mac a questioning look, just the one Mac knew meant he was checking in to see if he was really okay or if he needed anything, up to and including Jack to do something loud and dumb to buy him some space from the rest of the team.

Mac reflected that despite the close shaves the two of them had since that day, it _had_ been a change. Not in his luck maybe, which seemed determined to be bad an undue proportion of the time; but certainly in his circumstances.

His whole family had left him, either involuntarily or otherwise, Pena had died. Mac and his old unit had gone their separate ways, exchanging the occasional phone call or holiday card. And Bozer was his best friend, for sure, absolutely like a brother, but there'd been times where Mac was almost positive he was going to have a falling out with Boze that he couldn't repair.

But with Jack … no matter how bad things had ever gotten between them … and they'd been pretty damned bad a couple of times, like after Lake Cuomo when the stubborn Jackass wouldn't stop blaming himself for what happened and had climbed into a bottle of bourbon for weeks … They always seemed to find a way back, a way to fix things, a way to understand each other.

When he was talking to Charlie, Jack called out to him and he turned and trotted over. Jack had this intense look of concentration that he only ever got when he was tired or hurt and had thought of something important and he was afraid he wouldn't remember it later.

"I didn't want to break your concentration while you were in the middle of saving our lives or anything, but when I was rounding up mirrors, I realized something."

Jack passed him the watch part and encouraged him to look at the number. Mac did, frowning. Jack could see him almost getting there on his own, his ginormous brain ticking away at a million miles an hour, almost lighting on why this was significant, but kind of too tired and spun to quite get there. Jack handed him the dossier that Mac's father had ostensibly left on Christmas Eve. "Okay? Now, look at the numbers on the tattoo on his arm."

Mac's eyes went wide, with long-awaited realization, and the strange dropping sensation in his stomach that reminded him of that moment you get to the top of the hill on the roller-coaster and you know it's supposed to be fun, but as your car crests the summit you realize you've made a terrible mistake. He decided to focus on the first feeling.

"You're right! The last six digits match the tattoo on his arm."

"You remember what you said about coincidences?" Jack asked, a little pleased with himself that he remembered it, in all honesty.

Mac nodded slowly. "From a statistical perspective, they are inevitable."

Jack didn't know what to make of Mac's expression right then, only that he'd continue to be there for the kid, just like he always was, no matter what. "I'm telling you, man, this is no coincidence."

Jack paused.

"He's trying to send you a message."

Mac had a moment where the idea was both thrilling and terrifying. Then he just gave Jack a little half smile. "We'll figure it out, pal." He clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Matty's gonna have us debriefing this until New Year's. And I'm starving."

Jack grinned. Mac needed to change the subject. Jack was happy to accommodate that. Especially since he was doing so with food. "Alright, kid. You're the boss … Hey, Matty!" Jack called out. "We're gettin' some chow then we'll meet y'all in the War Room."

She gave them both another fond smile and a nod. "Gotta feed my two favorite people." She paused and gave them a harder, more speculative look that usually meant trouble. "So long as they bring take-out for the rest of the team."

"Yes, ma'am," they answered together.

Then they looked at each other again. Mac laughed softly. "What is it, bud?"

"Let's get out of here before Matty comes up with a real order or we find anything else wired to blow up. I need a damned break."

Jack's nod and expression were both knowing, but Mac thought, it was a comfortable sort of knowing, the kind he appreciated rather than retreated from. "Whatever you need, kid."

Mac knew he meant it. Really meant it. And not just about ghosting to avoid the noise of wrapping up the scene for a little while.

"Well, thanks, man."

Some days it seemed like so much changed Mac could make himself dizzy trying to keep up. Today reminded him that there was always a point he could come back to, and he didn't have to worry about it just disappearing. Hell, Jack had made it very clear that he couldn't get rid of him if he tried.

And Mac had stopped trying a long time ago.


End file.
